Still Water Runs Deep
by lost-in-elysium
Summary: Edmund's sudden death leaves his family and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not as "sudden" as previously believed.
1. Prologue

**Still Water Runs Deep  
**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his family and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not as "sudden" as previously believed.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, major character death.

 **A/N:** Apologies in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors we missed.

* * *

 **Prologue**

Edmund Pevensie was born to die young, even after his mother delivered him with his cord around his neck, breathless and blue. Were it not for the prompt action of doctors and nurses, he would not have survived the night, let alone his second brush with _me._ _  
_

 _The air raid._ Planes roared overhead, spitting fire and dropping bombs that jarred bones, popped eardrums, and shattered nerves. He was fleeing the _Luftwaffe_ when he remembered. How _dare_ he forget Dad's photograph? Edmund rushed back for it and if Peter, damn him, hadn't followed, a hail of shrapnel and glass would've struck them both dead. He made that abundantly clear afterward, but Edmund didn't care; his brother should have joined their mother and sisters at the shelter and let him die, but _no_ , Peter had to act the hero (as usual!).

Edmund Pevensie cheated me twice, but, as you mortals say, _third time's the charm._

After the White Witch stabbed him - as crimson poured and white crept into his periphery - _we_ knew this was it, to his horror and my delight. When he drew his last breath and his heart ceased to beat and his aura snuffed out like a candle, he _was_ mine - until Lucy rewound the hands of time with a drop of cordial.

After an interminable wait, the boy gasped and opened his eyes, to the immense relief of his siblings. They flung their arms around him, tears flowing anew. _Fools._ The poignant scene would've warmed the cockles of my heart if I had one. Edmund had rejoined the living...for now; his aura had flared back to life - but not as bright, nor white, as before.

 _Tainted._

With Jadis and her army vanquished, darkness yielded to light and winter to spring. The prophecy had been fulfilled! Narnians savored their first taste of peace in a century, hailing the Pevensies their Kings and Queens with hopes of a long, prosperous reign. _..._ Or so they thought.

 _Pity I must end it for one so soon._

It would behoove you bleeding hearts to stop here and spare yourselves the misery. But the end is not _The End_. Content yourselves with blissful ignorance for now, but one day, you'll stop and wonder...

If you dare.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please let us know what you think. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. **  
**


	2. Pick Your Poison

**Still Water Runs Deep  
**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his siblings and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not "sudden" after all.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language. Major character death.

 **A/N:** Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/followed! It means so much. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter One: Pick Your Poison  
**

 _"Oomph!"_ The ground knocked the wind out of him. Edmund winced and opened his eyes, nearly crossing them at the sword an inch from his nose, poised to deliver the _coup de grace._

Peter, looking very much the barbarian king his enemies purported him to be, uttered what many heard last before meeting their doom. "Prepare to taste cold steel." A grin cracked the facade. "C'mon, Ed! Is that the best you got?" Sheathing the blade with a metallic _zing,_ Narnia's High King offered his hand - a mercy afforded only in the sparring circle.

 _Mercy?_ Edmund inwardly scoffed. _Kill me._ That's _mercy.  
_

* * *

 _"Did you hear that?"_

 _The Just King froze, head cocked, ears strained. He frowned. "Sounds like a yearling."_ _  
_

 _Peter straightened, eyes widening. "Over there," he said, then headed eastward. "Damn!" Swinging_ _ _off his mount, he knelt by a tawny heap, his mantle pooling around him.  
__

 _ _Edmund hastened to join them.__ Damn, indeed. _T _ _he poor creature had paid a___ _steep price for its curiosity._ _It was drowning_ _in its own blood, flailing and clinging_ _to life with the same tenacity as the iron jaws around its neck._ _Crimson veiled its chest. Why persist? Why struggle fruitlessly, with I so near? _Trying to extricate it from the snare was too cruel to consider.__ And more than a tad belated, _he thought._ _  
_

 _The brothers locked eyes. Peter's held the question; Edmund's the answer._

 _The eldest nodded. Just once. "Shh...shh." The High King stroked the deer's heaving flank with one hand as he fumbled for his dagger with the other. "There, there. Everything will be alright..." Steel flashed; Edmund flinched. Peter unleashed blood and misery with a thrust of the blade_ _ _. The body jerked, it__ _s_ _ _eyes sprung open, and out went the light of life._  
_

* * *

Craving death when condemned to life; there is no fate worse than that. Knowing it was not one he _must_ endure brought Edmund solace. He had long since decided to end life by his own hand, on his own terms, but never tried until a fortnight ago. Choosing when or _how_ was no easier for him than culling clothes was for a girl; he brooked nothing short of perfection.

A broken body on crags or one swinging from a noose was not how he wanted to be remembered. _I'll slit my wrists._ Slow and surefire. But where? _The bath. Yes; I'll do it there. Less of a mess._

He sat in the tub long after the water cooled, lambent torchlight glancing off each turn of the blade with its hilt of braided steel, forged by dwarves of the Far North. He pressed into the underside of his wrist, black veins stark against alabaster skin. _Drag it across each and let blood spill. Simple.  
_

But his resolve, then his hand, started to falter...

 _Do it, do it!_

He couldn't, he couldn't. _  
_

* * *

Edmund begrudgingly accepted. "Sorry, Pete." Grass blades cascaded from his clothes as he hauled himself upright. Granted, he was the _marginally_ better swordsman, but today had naught to show for it.

The High King scoffed. "Evidently. Unless you want an eye enucleated, you ought to focus when handling pointy objects." His smile waned, supplanted by a frown when the anticipated quip didn't come. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." _Liar._ "Can we take a break?"

"Break?" Another scoff. "We've only gone one round!"

Edmund dragged a tremulous hand across his brow. He was drenched; Peter had yet to break a sweat. "I know..."

"Fine." He squinted at the sun, well past its zenith. "Consider yourself lucky. We should be heading back for -"

"The birthday party I explicitly asked not to have?" Edmund _was_ indignant - simply too tired to sound it. "I hope whatever you three have planned isn't overly extravagant." _Fat chance._ Those hopes were dashed once Peter and Lucy appointed Susan head of party preparations.

"Ed, it's your eighteenth. You're officially an adult!"

"So are you, Susan, and half of Narnia; I'm nothing special." Edmund shoved his blade into its scabbard. "Why must we celebrate our mortality?"

"Why must you be so morbid?"

"I call it realistic. Well, it's true!" he exclaimed when Peter didn't relent; his blue eyes bore into his soul. Did they see the darkness within, thick and black like sludge?

 _"What is the matter with you?"_

"Nothing." Edmund shrugged. _Does my heart read so plainly, like words on a page?_

The High King clasped his shoulder. "Ed, you've...changed."

He brushed him off. "Haven't we all? Peter, _I'm fine."_ He had entrusted all his secrets to him but one. One too great for even Atlas to bear. _If Peter knew..._ Edmund shuddered. His primogentiure and high kingship foisted more carks and cares on Peter than a boy his age deserved. The stars could slip out of alignment and he'd still take the blame.

Contrary to popular belief, the High King wasn't infallible, but persistent to a fault. He'd fight to change the immutable, never stopping to admit defeat; hubris wouldn't allow it.

His best wasn't enough - not this time.

"There's something you're not telling me," Peter said. "I don't know what. But if you let it fester, it will kill you."

* * *

 **A/N:** If you made it this far, please feel free to leave feedback on your way out. Also, if you're on tumblr, please check out our blog **pevensie-parker**! **  
**


	3. An Uninvited Guest

**Still Water Runs Deep**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his siblings and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not "sudden" after all.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing.

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language. Major character death.

 **A/N:** Thanks to all our lovely readers for your support! Your reviews, favorites, and follows mean so much.

* * *

 _Do not go gentle into that good night_  
 _Old age should burn and rave at close of day;_  
 _Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

\- Dylan Thomas

* * *

 **Chapter Two: An Uninvited Guest**

 _If you let it fester, it will kill you._

Dry heaves wracked Edmund's body; there was nothing left for his stomach to reject. He slumped over the basin, clenching its rim, relishing cool porcelain against his skin. Dark hair with eyes to match spilled across his forehead, the shadows beneath them darker and the hollows in his cheeks deeper, bright with the flush of fever.

Sweat dripped from his nose and rolled off his chin. He dragged his sleeve across his face then himself upright, grimacing and clutching his side. He staggered toward the nightstand, hacking into a handkerchief that returned speckled black to his pocket.

He opened the drawer; vials jostled one another. Edmund plucked one out and raised it aloft, rolling it between his fingers. Frowned, peered closer, then frowned some more. He set it atop his nightstand, where others soon joined after a cursory inspection.

 _"Damn it!"_ They flew across the room and into flagstones with a sweep of his arm. _All empty._ Edmund plopped onto bed, burying his face into his hands, and a sob slipped unbidden. _She promised she'd procure more bottles._ His fingers clenched, their nails sinking into his scalp. _  
_

He had no right to be angry with _her._ Only himself - which was worse for he couldn't escape it. _  
_

_How can I be so feckless?_

Three knocks erupted at the door - persistent and, most definitely, _Peter.  
_

The Just King snapped his head up, raking back slick, sable locks as he salvaged some semblance of the composure lost moments before. "Coming!" Remnants of hope and glass crunched underfoot on his way to the door.

A scowling High King stood on the other side. "Good; you're dressed," he said, as if expecting different. "Let's go."

* * *

 _It's worse than I feared._ Edmund peered over the banister of the serpentine stairs leading to a Great Hall awash with guests. Not even a second after setting foot in it - before he could brace himself - Lucy crashed into him.

"Happy Birthday!" They stumbled into the pillar behind them.

Edmund recoiled. " _Lucy._ " He couldn't ward off her big, sloppy kiss; his pinioned arms had rendered him utterly defenseless.

Susan followed as quickly as decorum allowed, her hold on it - or, rather, its hold on _her_ \- tenacious as ever. "Lucy!"

"Yes, _Susan?"_ the Valiant Queen asked in her most saccharine voice as she liberated Edmund from her vice.

Their older sister flared her nostrils. "What did I tell you about -"

Lucy faced her with a flurry of skirts. _"Running_ indoors being unacceptable? Not even to greet the birthday boy?" She gasped, feigning surprise. "Yes, I've heard - and chosen to ignore you - for the umpteenth time."

Susan's mouth puckered. Deigning no reply, she embraced her little brother with far less exuberance than Lucy, the affection much the same. "Edmund. It's good to see you."

"You needn't do all of this," he said once they parted. Fountains flowed with wine beside towers of food. _She's really outdone herself._

The corners of her lips sagged into a frown. "I know. But..." She shrugged. "How _are_ you?"

A pointed glance. "Could be better."

Susan's frown deepened. "Edmund -" But Peter had whisked him off to begin their circuit around the hall. With friends and foes in close proximity, tonight was the golden opportunity for politicking the High King wouldn't surrender - but that, much like everything else, was far from Edmund's mind. He finally excused himself from a palaver between his brother and the identical twin lords Dar and Darin (the _-in_ suffix denoted him as younger) of Archenland under the pretense of getting a drink with the tacit promise of a return he did not intend to keep.

He slipped behind a pillar, closed his eyes...

 _Reprieve._ He sighed. _At last._

"Edmund, can we talk?"

His eyes snapped open. _Susan._ The drum of slender fingers along her chalice belied her steady voice.

"If it's about what I think it is, then no."

She grasped his arm. "You must know -"

"Edmund, I've been looking all over for you!" Peter stalked toward them, spouting steam. "Why are you standing in the corner, when you should be out and about with your guests?" And then he pounced on Susan. "What are you doing here with him?"

The Just King spared her from answering. "Why are you giving us the third degree?"

"I'm not giving you the third degree! Everyone is here to see you and the least you can do is talk to them. Ingrate," he spat.

"Please," Susan implored. "Now is not the time."

"Yes, it is." Edmund stepped forward, thrusting his face into Peter's. When his brother got under his skin, he burrowed himself deep. "Well, _Peter,_ I'm sorry I'm not in a festive mood tonight. But since you've made it clear it's _my_ birthday, I will do whatever the hell I please!" He sneered up at him, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, waiting for words or a fist to land.

Neither did.

When Peter blanched, and his eyes softened, Edmund knew - _dreaded_ \- why. "You're bleeding."

 _Oh no. Not now. Not again._ He turned away, eyes widening at the blood a tentative touch to his philtrim left on his fingertips. He blotted his nose, but the drip had turned into a trickle, then a gush that drenched the handkerchief within seconds.

 _So...much...blood..._

The room listed. Peter caught his shoulder. "Edmund..."

Susan pressed against him as his legs threatened to buckle. Her face swam before him and her mouth moved, the words smothered by the frantic beat of his heart. Edmund looked down at at his bloodied hands, tunic and floor, then up at the gathering crowd. "I'm -"

His eyes rolled back and he crumpled.

He was mine - surely, truly, mine - before he hit the ground.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! What were in the bottles? Who is _she?_ We'd love to know what you think.


	4. Lentum Mortis

**Still Water Runs Deep  
**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his family and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not as "sudden" as previously believed.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, major character death.

 **A/N:** Apologies in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors we missed. So sorry for the late update - school and work were keeping us busy. We hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Lentum Mortis**

 _Edmund is dead._

The words left an oneiric residue, tangling Lucy in the tendrils of a dream - one she was sure had ended until breakfast. Across her, beside Susan, sat his vacant chair (how _dare_ it mock her). And Peter was but wasn't there - a swig of juice, a bite to eat, then back to work after a mumbled acknowledgement to his sisters.

Smiles grew scarce in Cair Paravel; melancholy lingered the halls that no longer rang with laughter. The High King assured they would surmount "the greatest tragedy to befall our nation," conviction anywhere but his heart.

Perhaps the Narnians pitied her most since she was youngest. Pure their intentions may be, Lucy didn't resent them any less. Inwardly, she scoffed at their words, flinched from their touch and stares. They didn't serve her the least bit of good. They didn't fill the void, nor mitigate the truth. They did, if anything, keep the past from its rightful place, accosting her at every turn.

Now she lay in Edmund's room tucked in the recesses of the castle, whose eerie calm fed her nightmares. Where he often sat fireside, reading, brooding. Nodding off, ankles crossed and legs outstretched, a book sprawling his lap before he fell in the arms of Morpheus. Nothing _seemed_ different, besides a film of dust and cold ashes in the hearth; it'd be festooned with cobwebs soon enough without the servants' weekly ministrations.

The silence was final. _His body will never warm this bed again,_ Lucy thought, the pillow in her clutches drenched with tears. Each breath snagged on the lump in her throat. _How can he be here one day, then_ gone _the next?_ She sniffled. _What_ robbed her of him so soon? Only Moonwood could answer that.

 _Soon,_ she hoped. _Aslan, where are you?_ She wanted him here, _now -_ to drown in his amber eyes and cling to his golden mane. He knew when she needed him, even if she didn't. But this time was certain; she could not weather this storm alone.

Yet he did not come.

The door opened, as did Lucy's eyes. Rumpled dress, hair in tangles - the lack of sartorial splendor could not vanquish Susan's beauty. She shut the door and headed straight for the nearby bureau, opening and rummaging the top drawer.

"Susan." Lucy, sitting up, patted her hair into a semblance of order.

The Gentle Queen startled and turned, her face shifting from grim, to shocked, then sheepish, and caught her sleeve before it slipped off her shoulder, bony and pale as a wraith's. "Lucy! I did not expect to find you here." _  
_

"Neither did I."

"What _are_ you doing here?"

Lucy shrugged, eyes downcast, plucking a loose thread. "I miss him."

Her sister drifted toward the balcony doors but did not open them; instead, she gazed off into the edge of the world. "I miss him, too."

"Were you looking for something?"

"Nothing important." She dismissed the words with a shake of her head and wave of the hand, but Lucy suspected more than she dared let on.

The Valiant Queen drew her knees to her chest. "Do you think he suffered?"

Susan snapped her head toward her. "You honestly think he hadn't?"

"'I don't know," she replied. "No one does. At least I hoped he hadn't."

* * *

 _How wrong I was._

"Your Majesties," said Moonwood the Hare, Narnia's Royal Physician. "I am sorry for your loss. I know these words do not suffice," he added, "But I hope I brought you the closure you seek."

 _Closure?_ His words stung, no matter how gently he framed them.

The sun shone bright - an affront of the highest order - suffusing the Great Hall with its golden warmth in the torpor of midafternoon. But the walls that held their coronation; Yuletide balls; victory celebrations, still stood hard and cold. They had scoured the blood but not the memories.

Peter's face was inscrutable, hewn from the marble throne upon which he sat. Blonde hair brushed his shoulders, the bags under his eyes testifying to weeks of lucubration at a desk piled high with scrolls. He had aged years in a fortnight. _Do I look the same?_ Lucy wondered, tracing tears shed harder and sooner than expected. _At least I fared better than Susan._ She had abandoned her perch by the window long ago.

 _"Your brother was poisoned."_

 _The High King sprung to his feet, hands clenched and murder in his eyes. "Poisoned? What snake -"  
_

 _"I'm afraid your vengeance cannot be sated, for the culprit is already dead."  
_

 _Peter's bluff and bluster dissipated in an instant. "I beg your pardon?"_

 _He sighed. "Your brother was sick for quite some time; Jadis' scepter was laced with poison - one that killed him slowly, hence its name: lentum mortis -_ slow death _." It is indigenous to Charn with no known antidote; it lays latent in the body for years, consumes you till you're -"_

 _"Dead," Lucy finished._

 _Moonwood nodded._

 _"How was he able to control his symptoms?" asked Peter.  
_

 _"Laudanum. For the pain and cough."_

 _The High King's eyes stretched wide._

 _"Yes..." Moonwood wrung his paws."I keep my inventory secure and check it daily; I found no discrepancies. I presume your brother procured it through other means..."_

 _How so?_ Lucy refrained to ask; the answer most likely died with him.

 _Peter frowned. "Could he -"  
_

 _"No," Moonwood replied. "Although the levels found in his body are lethal to you and I, he had been using it so long he had grown to tolerate it. I conclude your brother died from internal hemorrhaging."_

Privacy assured with a click of the door, Peter rose, stroking his chin in contemplation as he descended the dais. "How did I let this happen? It was my duty to protect you all and I failed." _  
_

Lucy joined him at the balcony and peered into undulant waters - tumult beneath the ostensible calm. Waves pummeled the promontory without surcease, yet the rocks held firm. Like Peter. _Unlike me._ She was giving herself piecemeal to the grief, and soon she'll be Susan.

She recalled the vow he made to their mother before the train whisked them into the country, away from the horrors of war. "Peter -" She reached for him, wanting solace for him if not herself.

He recoiled. "No. Don't start."

"No one could have foreseen this -"

"Lucy, did you not hear?" He looked at her askance. "Edmund was sick for years! He was suffering for years." _Eight. Half my life._ "How did we miss that?" The Just King always looked haggard - but wouldn't you if you devoured books more than food and slept on a guilty conscience?

"Simple - he did a good job hiding it. Our brother never wanted to be a burden."

Peter looked away, but not quick enough to hide the flash of guilt. He drew himself erect and inhaled composure. "He was never that."

"It doesn't matter what you thought; that's how Edmund felt. I'm sorry." Lucy placed a hand on his arm; this time he didn't flinch. "That was cold."

"But true."

Peter slouched over the balustrade, broad shoulders sinking with a sigh. He studied his hands he knew would never be wiped clean. "Edmund was sickly because he was born early. They kept him in the hospital for weeks before they let him come home." His parents kept vigil at his bedside months afterward and sometimes he did too, marveling at the bundle in his arms that grew into the pale, knobby-kneed boy whose truculence landed him in fights he couldn't finish.

 _"I had it sorted!"  
_

 _Fishing for a 'thank you' was futile. That and 'sorry' were not in his vocabulary._ _"Oh, did you?" Peter's grip tightened on the scruff of his brother's neck as they stumbled toward one end of the alleyway, Tom and his lackeys toward the other. "Because from what I saw they were all over you!" Indeed, they were, fists and contumelies flying. "Consider yourself lucky; if I hadn't found you -"  
_

 _Edmund wrenched away. "I don't_ need _your protection!" he sneered, the defiance in his eyes unextinguished despite the the bloodied lip and swollen eye, his clothes in tatters._ Never wins any fights but always in the mood for one. _  
_

_"You bloody idiot!_ _ _Do you enjoy getting knocked in the head?_ It's me that saves your pathetic arse every time!"  
_

 _"I never ask you to!"  
_

 _ _Peter seized his brother by the collar, slammed him against a brownstone._ "God, Edmund! You're insufferable. Sometimes - sometimes I wish -"  
_

 _"I didn't mean it."_ Peter had spoken the words so softly he wondered if he said them at all. No matter; his wish had been granted, albeit late. "Susan..." He twisted around, tears smarting his eyes. "Where did she run off too?"

"I dunno..." Lucy squinted at the beach. Eyes widening, she gasped and pointed. "There!" She frowned. "Su? _Su!_ What are you doing?!" The Valiant Queen whipped around and ran off before Peter could ask. His sight was not as keen, but when he descried his Gentle sister, the wind tugging at her dress and hair, he called and hastened after her.

Susan was walking right into the heart of the ocean.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading.


	5. The Problem with Susan

**Still Water Runs Deep  
**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his family and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not as "sudden" as previously believed.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, major character death.

 **A/N:** So sorry for the late update; work and school have been keeping us busy. Thank you all for your feedback.

* * *

 **Chapter Four: The Problem with Susan  
**

"Susan!" The wind snatched her name away and buried it beneath the rumble of waves. Peter whipped around, racing past bystanders and down a labyrinth of halls and stairs, his mantle a red streak behind him, quizzical stares left in his wake. His men followed his lead readily and without question, as they had sworn to do.

"Susan, _no!"_ Lucy stumbled over sand and skirts. He outstripped her in two bounds, sure her plea - unlike his - was not unheard, but ignored.

"Stay back!" Orieus made her pay heed to Peter's words and snared her in his arms, to the High King's relief and her dismay. The shock of cold water didn't register as he swam toward the head bobbing meters ahead. Brine stung his eyes; waves jostled, leeching heat, but he hardly cared. His only thought was _her._

Susan was a sight to behold in that billowing gown, dark hair aswirl; head back, eyes closed, arms raised in surrender. Propelled by a burst of adrenaline, Peter seized hold of a tendril of gossamer and drew his sister close.

Her eyes snapped open, a silent scream spewing bubbles. _"No!"_ Far from gentle, she bucked and writhed with a strength that belied her frame, clawing at his hair, his eyes; those unyielding steel bands for arms and the Narnians rushing to their aid. They dragged their sodden selves ashore - Susan damning them all the while - but Peter never relinquished his hold, even as they floundered in the shoal...

...Until Susan jerked her elbow. "Let me go! _Let! Go!"_ His nose cracked and he saw stars.

* * *

"Get some rest," Peter mumbled to Lucy, despite a dire need for it himself. "I'll stay here." He probed his swollen nose with a wince. Before he could steel himself, Moonwood had taken one glance and reset it. _"I think it adds character!"_ the Hare had said, perhaps with a nod and smirk - but through his tears the High King could not say. Pain and bruises faded with time; that crooked nose was forever.

A soak in the tub _was_ enticing, but entailed a trudge upstairs. "No. I am staying with you." She sat to emphasize her point - one her brother was too tired to counter. Her obstinance was so _Edmund,_ as were Susan's dark hair spilling across the pillow like ink on parchment and the albatross of guilt stooping Peter's shoulders. It mattered not his clothes and hair were crusted with blood, sand, and brine; he still had the carriage of a king.

Repose came after ataractics, and in it Susan looked years younger. Beyond the window lay a sky full of stars - misaligned, no doubt, for how else did all these troubles beset her family so?

Peter scrubbed his eyes then glanced at his baby sister. He sighed. _Where did the time go?_ The cherubic face and pinch-worthy cheeks were, regrettably, long gone; Lucy was more woman than girl now - and one many found most endearing. But she herself never knew it, which only made her more so...

Nostalgia lanced his heart. Their time in war-torn England had been so dark and drear, with him and Edmund at perpetual odds; when all they shared were resentment toward rations and each other.

 _But at least we were together then._

None of this would have happened were it not for my dear friend War. Peter despised and avoided it at all costs, but to think that possible was sheer folly. If never knowing of Narnia or its wonders meant his brother would live, so be it. He preferred Edmund _anything_ but dead.

As they dwelled in silence and each other's thoughts, all grew still save the dance of flames and the grotesque shadows they cast. Their eyes and nostrils burned from pungent herbs.

"I miss him so much," His words, spoken no softer than a whisper, startled like a scream. "It should've been me." If he could take Edmund's place, he would. _In a heartbeat._ "I should've been the first to go."

Lucy stiffened. "Peter." _I hate when you talk like that._

Both watched Susan stir and her eyes flutter with bated breath, releasing it once she stilled.

He lowered his voice. "Well, it's true. As the eldest, my death should precede all yours; that's the natural order of things."

"There's nothing _natural_ about any of this!"

"Lucy, please."

With an exasperated huff, the Valiant Queen rested her chin on her knee and silence resumed its reign. As she brooded by the fire, Peter's head bobbed as he oscillated between sleep and wake; he wouldn't dare show he was human. But despite his best efforts he did, and Lucy followed soon after.

* * *

Pink, purple, orange, and red bled into the ether, heralding a new day, and by the time Lucy awoke, duty had torn her brother from Susan's bedside. Narnians grew warier by the minute - _will we don sables again so soon? -_ and craved solace as much as she. _Poor Peter,_ facing them alone - even worse she was relieved it wasn't her. He changed personas like clothes, said things that undid her if she so much as pondered them.

He was a bastion of hope she could never be.

"Am I dead?" the Gentle Queen asked the ceiling.

It was Lucy who replied. "No."

Susan laid quietly in bed - so unlike the screeching banshee they had forced in it the night before. After a slow blink, she turned her doleful stare to her. "How long have I been...out?" Her face reclaimed the years it had lost in sleep.

"All night." Lucy stood and sent a servant off to fetch their brother after a brief pandiculation. "You must be famished." The elder Pevensie shifted on the bolster of pillows, glowering at the tray her sister set before her.

Susan stirred her porridge, round and round, enthralled by repetition; her frown sank deeper with each one. _Clang!_ The spoon dropped. She pushed breakfast aside with a scowl Edmund so often wore at supper deadlocks between him and their mother. Mrs. Pevensie begged him all night to no avail to eat his vegetables ("They'll make you big and strong!"), hours after his siblings were settled and ensconced in bed. But he listened to no one except Father - whether he be at home or the front lines.

"The guilt..." She gulped and blinked back tears. "I could not bear it."

Lucy pressed her hand. "Susan, this is not your fault." But she was shaking her head long before the last word departed her mouth.

 _"I knew."_

She flinched. "Wh-what?"

"I knew Edmund was dying." She hid behind her veil of hair. "He told me."

And into the chair Lucy slumped, reeling from a maelstrom of emotions. There was so much she wanted to say, but so little she could. "How? Why..." _did he not tell me?_ _  
_

Susan's eyes bore into the bowels of her soul. _"You know why."_

Each word landed like an anvil. And although Lucy was loathe to admit it, she _did_ know. Her worry for Edmund never ceased - nor did his endeavors _not_ to add to it. _I'm fine,_ he insisted - even en route to the infirmary with an arrow in his gut after a skirmish with brigands one night. When he promptly fainted, she swore she'd kill him if he didn't bleed out first.

They were headed down a path neither were keen to follow, yet Lucy forged ahead. "Peter deserves the truth." _As do I.  
_

Tears coursed down her sister's cheeks. The blanket quivered in her fists; her heart, a frantic bird, pummeled her ribs. As the tidal wave of despair loomed overhead, Susan knew she'd die once it struck again. "He won't understand."

Anyone who dared provoke Peter were sorry they did - except Edmund. He found a perverse pleasure to it Susan never could. Her older brother never minced words. He spared perfect, little Lucy from the wrath he was so quick to unleash on her. He never saw the pain inflicted by his barbed tongue - misty eyes and a clenched jaw were all she'd ever give him - not the tirade crashing against the backs of her teeth or the punches she itched to throw.

But he'll certainly get it next time.

 _This is_ not _your fault._ Not until recently did Edmund's words begin to register. Absolution from him was all she needed - not Lucy, not Aslan, and certainly not _Peter._ But he'd turn straight savage on a dime and spin the truth his way. That was him - not Edmund, who skirted feelings and framed each word with care; Peter would put reason to rout and bludgeon her to death with them.

"I don't quite understand it, either -"

"Yes," the Gentle Queen spat, for Peter was still very much in mind. "But you're not _him_."

 _True._ The High King was many things - magnanimous, not. He'd carry all grudges to the grave.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading.


	6. Irreconcilable Differences

**Still Water Runs Deep  
**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his family and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not as "sudden" as previously believed.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, major character death.

 **A/N:** So sorry for the late update. It is hard to stay focused (school and work don't help) but you guys remind me why I still write. Apologies in advance for any missed spelling/grammatical errors.

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Irreconcilable Differences  
**

The door opened.

"Susan!" Peter crashed into her, squeezing her breathless then letting her go before the world blacked out completely. She gasped, more in relief rather than out of necessity. A hot temper wreaked havoc when left unchecked, and Peter's was the worst. How could the same hands caress a lady's hand and leave a room in shambles?

 _"I'm sorry," he'd say, once his head cooled. "I just lost it."_

Edmund had always been the better king. Unlike his older brother he ruled with his head, not his heart. Peter threatened wars his brother averted with words.

"You silly girl!" Peter's shot at levity missed. "What were you thinking?" A smile she didn't return softened the words. Susan didn't recall but had no doubt she broke his nose; his good looks hadn't suffered for it - not that he'd notice or care. His heart was long-since claimed by his sisters.

The Gentle Queen stumbled out of bed and toward the window spanning floor to ceiling, arms crossed against a sudden chill. _Soon I will lose it._ _Silly_ she may be, at least she had the sense to distance herself first. "I knew."

 _"What?"_ _  
_

When Susan mustered the courage to face him and saw his smile gone, she knew he hadn't misheard.

"I knew - _I knew Edmund was dying."_

And then she told the story like it was not her own.

* * *

 _ _ _ _ _Neither Susan nor Edmund cared to fill the silence with idle chatter. Rabadash would never condone her sprawling_____ _across the chaise lounge but he, thank Aslan, wasn't here -_ _only her brother._ _ _Tomorrow they'd set sail on the__ Splendour Hyaline, _bound for Narnia -_ home, _with its verdure and fresh air. She could never love Calormen's endless, barren sands or it's miasma that clung like smoke.  
_

 _The prince had intended for her to stay. He asked for - and she denied him - her hand a_ _thousand times, and he hadn't realized she meant it until tonight. He_ _was livid, but could she blame him?_ _The Tarkheenas who b_ _ _ _atted their eyelashes and spoke in simpers and giggles didn't. They called___ her _a fool for rebuffing him. T_ _heir union_ could _ease tensions - but for how long, if at all? Accepting a dubious offer would make her a fool.  
_

 _ _The burble of the fountain had almost lulled her to sleep when Edmund asked, "Do you remember?"_  
_

 _ _Susan sat up, wincing, as her gown brushed skin blistered by heat that left__ _ _ _Lucy and Peter sunkissed glows.___ _"Of course. How could I not?" H_ _er heart stuttered and stomach dropped when Edmund started pacing._

Something's wrong. _  
_

 _"Jadis stabbed me. Right here." The Just King patted the scar that served to remind them. He sat beside Susan, raising his tunic._ _  
_

 _She gaped at the web of_ _ _black, distended, tortuous veins_. "It's infected!" __  
_

_"Legend has it Jadis died with a smirk. Now I know why; she still has a hold on me."  
_

 _Susan's eyes widened. "The cordial -" She scrambled to her feet as if it laid nearby, not leagues away in a pouch at Lucy's hip.  
_

 _"- will not do any good." Her face fell. "It heals grievous bodily injury, not...this." Edmund made a vague gesture when words failed him.  
_

 _Susan grasped his hands. Was the tremor his or hers? "We_ will _find a cure."_

 _They searched for years. B_ _lack veins spread across Edmund's torso and up his neck, artfully hidden by tunic collars. The tremors worsened and the circles under his eyes darkened - or maybe he was growing paler. The pounds melted off. L_ _audanum bottles dwindled - his pain demanded more, pulling the Gentle Queen into Narnia's_ _underbelly, where crescents filled her pockets with opium and sealed their dealer's lips.  
_

 _"We won't win this," Edmund said one night.  
_

 _Susan had thought this for the longest time, but to hear it aloud - from him, no less - undid her. She flew to his bed and perched on its edge. "Don't you dare say that."  
_

 _"Susan, it's true!" His voice cracked and his eyes swam with tears. "I want to die. Please, why won't you let me die?"  
_

 _It all happened so fast. He was sitting one minute then shoving a blade into her hands the next._

 _"Save me._ Please." _  
_

_"Edmund...wha...?" And then she realized_ save _was the euphemism for - "No! Stop, Edmund!" She flung the dagger aside; it skittered across flagstones, into shadows. "Do not ask that of me again,_ ever!" _  
_

_Susan despised the part of her wishing she could. Her brother stared, mouth agape, but s_ _he was too upset to apologize. She swept out of the room and did not cry until the click of the door granted her permission._ _ _She'd much rather be the worry than the_ worried. To watch her brother suffer - to fear finding him dead after taking one drop of laudanum too many - was a fate worse than me.  
_

* * *

Susan brushed aside a tear. She had laid the naked truth before them, sparing no details - but the albatross felt no lighter. Peter's face hardened, unyielding like the wall he pressed her against. The cold settling deep within her bones could not compare to a glare that froze fires. "You let our brother die. You killed him!" he said through gritted teeth, hands clenched in white-knuckled rage.

Composure, a tenuous thread, snapped inside her. How dare her brother think himself infallible - so quick to point out the faults of others yet woefully blind to his own.

"I did as he asked, what he wanted, which you could _never_ do!"

The words knocked Peter back. As he looked at her with those dead eyes, Susan knew the rift she cleaved was too broad, too deep. She had pushed him past hate. Past caring.

"I wish you'd kill me," she said, her smile a taunt. "I know you want to."

"Stop it, both of you!" The Valiant Queen wedged herself between them. "Edmund wouldn't want this."

The High King blinked at her. "Lucy, whose side are you on?"

"Edmund's."

The Gentle Queen gloated over his defeat as Lucy joined her side. They glared at one another until Peter nodded and said, "I see." But he didn't. He turned on his heel and shut the door softly behind him, but Susan and Lucy flinched all the same. _  
_

Susan rubbed the goosebumps burgeoning across her arms. Edmund never forgot it was _she_ who stood by his side when no one else would. They had commiserated with each other over plights known only to middle children. They sought each other's counsel and shared secrets, laughter, and tears. Edmund was the keeper of her heart, and when he died it died too.

Her bravado left with Peter. "I..." She and her facade crumpled to the floor. Oh, how she hated him - herself even more for letting him undo her again.

* * *

Peter thundered down the halls and out the castle gates, his glare warning all to steer clear. Now he stood in the the heart of the forest, wondering what had led him to this old haunt, where he and Edmund often fled when their crowns started weighing too heavy on their heads. Here the trees knew them as boys, not kings - divested of duty, titles, and cares.

Now they loomed overhead, a tribunal passing judgement. _  
_

The High King swung at one with a roar. Bark shredded his knuckles and splinters flew, crimson drip, drip dripping off his fingers. They curled into fists as he sunk to his knees, conscience binding like ironclad chains.

He unleashed a scream, borne from the pit of his soul. It sent rodents scurrying into their burrows and birds to the skies - so frightful was that sound. Lucy, the guiding light in his darkest hours, had left him groping in the blind. The apple of her eye was starting to rot. He had failed his dearest, darling sister; her eyes told him so, even if she wouldn't.

Betrayal never stung so keenly.

Grief tore Peter asunder, turned him inside-out, and left him a quivering heap in the foliage. He could lay there forever...

 _"Rise, my son."_

Peter opened his eyes to four massive paws. He stood, head and shoulders bowed more in shame than deference; his show of strength was over. He must've looked as horrid as he felt but could not bring himself to care.

 _"Where. Have. You. Been?"_

"If you looked you would've found me. What troubles you, child?" The question rumbled the world.

Aslan's golden eyes could not calm the tempest in Peter's heart, as much as he hoped; only I could do that. _"Everything."_

"You can forgive anyone if you forgive yourself."

The implication was not lost on Peter. He sneered, _"You're wrong._ I will never forgive her." _That is a promise._ "What she did was unconscionable. She betrayed me." He dared not speak her name.

"Edmund did, too. How is this different?"

"It's plenty different," Peter said. "One of us is dead."

"Susan did not put poison in Edmund's veins."

 _True._ But Jadis was not here for him to blame. The High King clenched his jaw and made no concessions. He wouldn't. "Someway, somehow, I would have saved him."

"Do you not mean yourself?" Then Aslan turned and left Peter, as always, with more questions than answers.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. **  
**


	7. Truth and Lies

**Still Water Runs Deep  
**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his family and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not as "sudden" as previously believed.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, major character death.

 **A/N:** So sorry for the late update. It is hard to stay focused while juggling work and school but I will finish this! Apologies in advance for any missed spelling/grammatical errors.

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Truth and Lies  
**

"Are you done?"

Peter had heard too little of that voice as of late. He looked up. "Lucy!" His smile waned when it failed to draw her near; she hovered outside the room she had barged into countless times before, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. _Well?_ She looked _-_ dare he say it? - _vexed_ by his tardiness. Or so he hoped.

The High King huffed. "As ready as I'll ever be." He stood and swiped the scroll off the desk. Together, he and Lucy headed toward Cair Paravel's west wing, past guards standing sentry at every corner. In another life, they walked the halls freely - now they could not so much as breathe without an escort. Peter scowled inwardly. _Damn Calormenes._ They thought too little of him to grant bereavement. As Edmund's death fueled their machinations, he reluctantly mobilized his forces. For years Calormen sat on its haunches, waiting...and when it pounced, he'll be ready.

How many lives were lost - how much blood had spilled - for _him?_ Peter didn't need their protection when Rhindon alone sufficed. He clenched its hilt until the embossments bit his palm. Narnians insisted it was their duty - an _honor_ \- to protect and serve their king, and he could not convince them otherwise.

He nodded at a pair of guards, the parchment feather-light in his hands but its words heavy on the heart and mind. He'd much rather march into battle than this. Lucy knew speeches frayed his nerves and what to say to calm them, but hadn't offered a word. Her silence was foreign; it didn't envelop him like a blanket on a cold day, but prickled like thorns.

 _Resentment._ Peter knew it all too well. He was the resentful and resented - first by his brother, then Susan, and now _Lucy_ \- a feat he never hoped to achieve... He consigned the thought to oblivion before it veered into forbidden territory. He couldn't risk a Freudian slip now, not with the speech so near.

"Susan's already there," Lucy said. _In case you cared._ The Gentle Queen may have lost Peter's trust, but not her punctuality. _Early's on-time; on-time is late; late is_ unconscionable _!_ was her mantra. Their sister, true to form, stood by balcony doors open wide like welcome arms. The fiery rage she once stoked in him had snuffed out, leaving cold embers of indifference. He glared at her and she right back.

"You iced her out."

Each word lanced through his heart. "Lucy -" He stopped short of rebuking her, which he never had or could do. _Funny - he'd have no qualms if I were Susan._ Peter's patience with Lucy was infinite; hers was running thin. She looked her brother in the face for the first time in forever, wearing the selfsame scowl Edmund often did when he was a boy. He had had the face for it; she didn't.

"It's true. You wouldn't hate me if it were I who told you. She and I can make the same mistake yet you crucify her and not me. Why?"

That stare was his undoing. Edmund looked at his litigants just the same as he interrogated them in court. Peter pitied whomever his brother had given the third degree - he himself had been subject to it. Those dark orbs probed one's soul, discerning the truth behind lies dismantled in minutes.

"I'm not perfect."

Lucy gasped, feigning surprise. Sarcasm was _so_ Edmund. Why hadn't Peter realized how similar Lucy and their late brother were until now? "Who would've thought?"

"We do not have time for this." Peter lowered her voice as Susan as fell within earshot. "I have a speech to give." He forged ahead without another word to either of them.

Lucy's eyes bore into his back. _We're not finished,_ they said. Peter sighed. _I know._ He'd answer to her - _after_ the speech he was suddenly so eager to give. The Valiant Queen stood beside her sister, letting him pass so they could follow as royal protocol dictated. Wiping the scowl off her face, she emerged from behind the curtain and took center stage, her smile turned genuine by the subdued cheers below. She peered down at the square awash with red and gold, full of faces young and old but altogether grim - Narnians, bound by _esprit de corps_ that sent a frisson through her. The Pevensies' united front felt flimsy in comparison.

The Royal Guard paraded the square, heads on the swivel and weapons at the ready. Narnia was never one to flaunt its military might, but how else would the world know Edmund's death left them unscathed? Peter approached the lectern, unfurling the speech he'd recite verbatim, and began with the usual platitudes of how Edmund dearly missed and Narnia will prevail in spite of it.

Lucy sighed. _Same message, different words._ Her eyes drifted and mind wandered deep into her head.

A sudden movement caught her attention. She turned, blushing like a student caught by the teacher in a daydream. Peter, to her chagrin, was no longer facing the crowd but _her_ , slowly rising to a stand as he lowered the arm he had flung over his head.

 _Fwip._

Lucy felt before she saw it. The blow knocked her back. Then came the sharp, sudden pain in her stomach. Her eyes and hands dropped to the arrow embedded there. More blood than she thought possible poured from her and she stared, mouth agape, unable to stanch the flow or quell the rising panic. When she looked up and saw their faces - Tumnus; Peter; Susan; Orieus - wearing what she felt, she _knew_ it was too late, and toppled before they blinked.

The world faded to black and voices filled the void - calling her name; asking _Can you hear me?_ ; pleading for her to stay. They conflated into a hum, the last, tenuous tether to consciousness - to life - she desperately clung to, until it snapped.

She tumbled down, down, down - into the infinite deep.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading.


	8. Trial by Fire

**Still Water Runs Deep  
**

 **A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Edmund's sudden death leaves his family and Narnia reeling. As the investigation unravels, the truth comes to light: the Just King's death was not as "sudden" as previously believed.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, major character death.

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: Trial by Fire**

Peter was not a patient man. He acted before thinking, his impulsiveness as big a nuisance to his brother as Edmund's endless strategizing was to him. The situation could have worsened tenfold by the time they devised a plan! _  
_

 _"_ _Wars are won in the general's tent," Edmund had told him._

 _"Not if the enemy demolishes it first," retorted Peter, just as many times._

He stared at his hands Lucy's fate had fallen out of. He clenched them till they trembled and the tendons stretched taut along his forearms. What would Edmund say? Probably, _Only time will tell, brother. All we can do is wait,_ with a consolatory pat on the shoulder. He had always seemed privy to the future, which some considered a blessing. Not Peter; such prescience was a curse, but he wished for it now. His sister's life hung in the balance, and it was only a matter of time before I won this macabre tug-of-war. Always have, always will.

I never kill (my top collaborators War, Famine, and Disease - among others - were to thank for that), merely collected the souls of the dead, which Lucy soon would be.

Peter's world had shrunk to this room; nothing outside it mattered - not even that the perpetrator had been killed. It didn't undo the present. An assassination attempt was a clever but dastardly of the Tisroc (who knew he'd have never stand a chance against Narnia otherwise). The High King buried his face into his hands, his mind spinning faster and faster until it snagged on a thought too distant to discern as memory or dream.

* * *

 _Peter startled at the creak of the door Edmund stormed out of moments before, shutting the book he was trying but too livid to read._ _"_ He _started it -"  
_

 _"_ _ _You and your brother must work out your quarrels between yourselves."_ Mrs. Pevensie sat beside her eldest son, running ___a hand through hair streaked mostly by war and Edmund, although Peter may have turned a strand or two gray__ _ _._ He slumped._ _He sounded so petulant, so_ Edmund. I'm the older brother, _he thought._ Act like it! Mum won't be around to settle any arguments come tomorrow.

Tomorrow. _His stomach dropped._ That's what's she come to talk about. _Her eyes told him so, even if she didn't.  
_

 _Sending her children away was what any mother would do._ _The first raid was bad, the second even worse, and Peter doubted they'd survive a third; their luck was finite. With rations stricter than ever, most could barely manage one child, let alone two - but_ four? _ _Their benefactor he only knew by name (and a peculiar one at that!) agreed to take him and his siblings in,__ but would Professor Digory Kirke, _ _Peter wondered,__ have chosen differently had he known one child in the bunch was spoiled rotten? _  
_

 _"All ready?"  
_

No. _"Yes." He glanced at his valise by the desk; Edmund's sat behind them, a gaping leather maw drooling clothes. Peter_ _ _had asked his brother to pack for the umpteenth time, but Edmund hadn't taken kindly to it. He never took kindly to anything.__

Fine! _ _Peter thought.__ If the brat didn't realize he had a missing sock or mismatched clothes or no drawers until we're unpacking tomorrow night, so be it!

 _"I'm sorry." He didn't see the tears in his mother's eyes but heard them in her voice._ _They hoped the tide would turn and bring Dad home; yet the war raged on, no end in sight._ _  
_

 _"You did what you had to do," he muttered to the floor.  
_

 _"I hope so."_ _She sounded no less guilty. "I'll trust you'll look after your brother and sisters while you're away. You're the man in charge."_

 _Peter nodded, relieved Edmund wasn't here to roll his eyes at that._ Man. _He had looked forward to becoming one for the longest time,_ _but wasn't nearly as excited as he hoped._

 _He and his mother_ _embraced each other tightly, both on the verge of tears neither dared step off of._ _ _  
__

 _"They look up to you._ Yes, _e_ _ven Edmund," Mrs. Pevensie said before Peter shot her a quizzical look. "Promise me you'll look after them. I know it is not ideal but..."_ Expected.

 _She squeezed the words right out of him. "I promise."_

* * *

Peter blinked away the tears stinging the backs of his eyes. _I failed her. Miserably._ The damning evidence laid before him: Lucy, all white but the auburn of her hair, blood everywhere. It led a trail to what could very much be her deathbed, staining his clothes and conscience. The cordial healed her, but she had lost so much (perhaps _too_ much) blood by then. He clasped her hand. His sister, true to her title, would fight for her life as valiantly as she did everything else...

* * *

 _"Peter,_ please. _"_

 _"No."_

 _"You wouldn't be so adamant if I were a boy! I want to go with you and Edmund." Trouble brewed up north, where the kings were headed in two days' time. "It's my fight, too."_ Silence. " _I'll stay within earshot, honest."  
_

 _"Lucy, I said_ no. _"_

 _She huffed and crossed her arms; Peter half-expected her to stamp her foot._ _"I'm_ not _a little girl anymore!"_

You could've spared me the reminder. _"Yet you pout and whine like one. This discussion is over." The High King rearranged the sheaf of papers on his desk, struggling to ignore his sister's glare from across it, expecting protests but none came.  
_

 _The Valiant Queen straightened._ "Fine."

 _Peter waited for the soft click of the door to drop the papers and any pretense of reading them. He sighed._ I'd be a fool to think she'd surrender that easily.

 _"You were_ oh so _very helpful," he quipped to his brother, who always offered counsel when Peter least wanted it and none when he did.  
_

 _Edmund swung his feet off the table he had propped them on. "Why waste my breath? You can't hold her back, Peter. She's bullheaded, willful...Sound familiar?" He approached and leaned over the desk; his dark hair fell across his brow._ _"_ _Peter, s_ _he is just as capable as you or I - an absolute beast in the sparring circle!"_

True. _Their sister had bested them in the sparring circle more times than Peter cared to admit._ She _fought just as well (if not_ better _) than any man and was everything he sought in an ally and feared in the enemy._

 _"Yes, but that is a controlled environment_ unlike _the battlefield."_

 _The Just King waved a dismissive hand. "She thrives under pressure. I pity_ _ _any poor soul she encounters in battle._ " He was right, of course, but Peter wouldn't say so. "That is, if you let her fight."  
_

 _"I can't."_

 _"Why not? She can take care of herself without you breathing down her neck every second. You won't always be there to protect her."  
_

 _Those blunt words pierced Peter like daggers. "I can damn well try."  
_

* * *

 _And I did._ "Lucy, come back. _Please."_ Oh, how Peter _wished_ to rewind the clock - not hours, or months, but _years_ back, before he was born or even _thought of_ \- until the gears locked and springs popped. He never envisioned life without her. There was no reason to - she was certain like the sunrise, a fixture in his life since her birth. He hoped to die before her - that _was_ the natural order of things, but what was natural about any of this? He should have died many times over, today included, but by luck (or lack thereof) he hadn't.

What a cruel twist of Fate it was for the arrow to narrowly miss him and strike her. Had he only been spared his life to watch his loved ones lose theirs?

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading.


End file.
